


everything given / completely consumed

by SadaSymphonia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Death, Fetish, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Touching, Sexual Violence, Vore, extreme kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadaSymphonia/pseuds/SadaSymphonia
Summary: Scott and Stiles restrain Scott on the night of his first full moon to keep him from hurting anyone. But Stiles is curious about being hurt.
Relationships: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 33





	everything given / completely consumed

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a prompt. Read the tags, should be pretty obvious if this isn't your thing.

Stiles sits with his back to the closet door, the growing moonlight casting diagonal shadow across his face as it streams in through the window blinds. He watches, chest tight with anxiety and something a bit harder to name, as his friend strains against the creaking restraints binding him to the bed.

Scott is a sight to behold: sat up against the headboard with iron chains looped in a criss-cross over his chest, his wrists bound to either end of the bed, same with his ankles. Stripped down to his underwear, his skin agleam with a thick sheen of sweat, his dark hair damp, the usual kind warmth of his eyes vanished behind a golden glow, lips curled in an animal snarl around razor sharp teeth.

“Just remember, this was your idea, buddy,” Stiles says, chuckling awkwardly, flinching when Scott snarls in response.

It was true; Stiles had honestly been amused, thinking it was a bit overkill when Scott presented him with a massive tangle of chains, two sets of giant locks, and a truly archaic-looking steel muzzle. But he’d sobered quickly at the serious look on his friend’s face, the break in Scott’s voice when he’d said, “I really don’t want to hurt anybody.”

For once, Stiles feels decidedly grateful for Scott’s paranoia, his eyes widening as he watches the chains creak and strain, the muscles in Scott’s arms bulging as he tries to tear free.

Or, well.

Grateful in the immediate sense. The obvious sense, that base survival instinct in the back of Stiles’ brain telling him to put as much distance between him and the dangerous thing on the bed as possible. But there are other thoughts, more difficult to parse, and clearly holding alarming sway over his actions as he finds himself standing slowly, sliding up the closet door and pushing off.

He approaches the bed. Scott lets out another snarl, teeth snapping against the muzzle forming a cage over his mouth. Stiles doesn’t flinch this time.

His eyes flicker downward, trailing over Scott’s torso, the defined chest muscles framed by chains, a perfect set of abs expanding and contracting with each heaving breath. Sweat slicking the dark hair in his armpits, a vein pulsing rapidly along a flexing bicep. 

Stiles swallows thickly, his cock hardening and pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans. He adjusts himself, eyebrows lifting as Scott’s toenails explode outward into curved claws. 

It’s not that these feelings are entirely new. He’s always thought Scott was cute, someone much more likely to flourish after the awkward transition to high school than himself. He’d carried himself with a certain bumbling, adorable energy. Definitely kissable. But now? Stiles wants nothing more than to sink to his knees and rub his face against Scott’s sweat-soaked underwear, pull them down with his teeth and gag himself on his best friend’s big dick.

“Well, I guess if I was still a little unsure if I was bisexual, I can finally cross that off the list, huh?” he says, laughing weakly as his friend stares uncomprehendingly at him.

Stiles pauses, unable to look at Scott directly, focusing instead on the harsh panting breaths, gazing at the flex of Scott’s palm as it opens and closes, fingernails extending and retracting with a sharp metallic sound. Like a knife unsheathing and sheathing itself again and again. A reminder that danger and death were mere feet away, in the form of claws and jaws and pure unrestrained animal rage.

A bead of pre-come wets the front of Stiles’ underwear and he represses a shudder as he makes up his mind (or his mind makes up itself, it’s kind of hard to tell at this point). With shaking hands, he undoes the front button of his jeans, the sound of his zipper sliding down impossibly loud even over the continuous rumbles and growls emanating from the restrained werewolf.

Scott’s snarls briefly subside, his head cocked in curiosity as he stares at Stiles. His eyes are still glazed with that rabid glow, no evidence of humanity behind them. Just a predator patiently waiting to see what his prey will do next.

Stiles reaches back, tugging his shirt off from behind, letting it drop to the floor. He meets Scott’s eyes now, keeping his breathing as even as possible as he shucks off his underwear, letting his cock spring up and slap against his stomach. 

The werewolf’s growls resume in earnest as Stiles climbs slowly onto the bed, though the agitation seems now to have a direction, a purpose. Stiles’ heart skips a beat as a stream of thick saliva gushes out of both sides of Scott’s mouth, trailing along the grated bars of the muzzle and dripping down onto the boy’s collarbones.

Stiles’ cock throbs, heat suffusing his cheeks as he crawls further forward. A soft gasp escapes, unbidden, from his lips as his knee brushes against the heat of Scott’s thigh. The werewolf lets out a snarl that vibrates through the whole bed, a note of warning or pleading resonating at the end, Stiles can’t be sure which.

“I’m definitely going to hell for this,” he mutters, throwing a leg over Scott’s and straddling his waist. He bites his lip, feeling his friend’s cock swiftly growing to full hardness underneath him, straining against the fabric of Scott’s underwear and rubbing against the crease of Stiles’ ass.

Scott’s shoulders shake as he pulls more desperately against the chains. There is no spark of recognition in his eyes, none that Stiles can see. Just a pure and ravenous hunger. Of which variety, he isn’t sure, but also is even less sure that he really cares.

Another glob of drool spills out of Scott’s mouth and dribbles down all over his pec. Stiles reaches out, almost absentmindedly, wiping the saliva away and feeling the warmth of Scott’s smooth skin, a rumble from within Scott’s chest reverberating through his fingers. Stiles squeezes experimentally, relishing in the feel of the firm muscle against his palm. His fingertips brush over Scott’s nipple, and the werewolf jerks, a snarl giving way to a deep growl that sounds a touch surprised, even inviting.

Stiles can still barely believe this is really his best friend, a boy he’s known since they were playing together in the sandbox as children. His body had changed so much literally overnight, and with it something had changed in Stiles as well. New, strange fantasies, not fully formed or comprehensible yet deeply compelling.

He stares into Scott’s eyes, hesitating. Waiting, perhaps, for his friend to pull himself back together, to return his gaze, to look at him with confusion or disgust or betrayal. He receives nothing in return but that same unwavering golden glow, Scott’s throat bobbing as he swallows a mouthful of saliva in between harsh breaths. 

Letting his hands make up his mind for him, Stiles reaches up and unhooks the clasps holding the muzzle together behind Scott’s head, pulling the steel frame away and dropping it over the edge of the bed. He startles as Scott strains forward with lightning speed, mouth parting in a loud snarl, teeth snapping mere inches from Stiles’ face. 

Stiles jerks backwards, and Scott huffs and growls in frustration, eyes ablaze. The werewolf shudders, thrashing wildly against the restraints, bucking upward and making Stiles bounce. 

“Scott,” Stiles starts, lifting a hand placatingly. 

Scott strains forward again, letting out a roar that shakes the room. Stiles silently says a prayer of thanks that Melissa won’t be home tonight, wincing at the sound as flecks of spittle fly against his forehead and cheeks. 

Scott’s fangs glisten, a trail of wet drool connecting a sharp upper canine tooth to a lower molar, his mouth stretched wide as he roars. Stiles wonders what it would be like, to have those teeth sink into his flesh, to tear into his face again and again, crunching through skin and bone until only a pulpy mess remains. 

Or better yet, he thinks as he watches Scott’s jaws stretch somehow even wider, what it would be like to lay his face on that big tongue, to feel that slimy organ slather his face in saliva, feel Scott’s hot breath all around him. To be sucked in deeper, to slide down into the darkness of that throat, whole and alive, to be trapped in the digestive hell of Scott’s stomach. 

Stiles’ cock swells, leaking, and he shivers as Scott’s roars finally quieten into a dull growl. “Scott,” he says again, raising a hand, and this time the werewolf shrinks back, still growling but with much less apparent agitation.

Satisfied, Stiles reaches out and scoops up another glob of drool from Scott’s chest. He wraps that hand around his own cock, letting out a shaky gasp at how surprisingly warm the saliva is as he lubes himself up. 

Gazing back into Scott’s eyes, he sways forward, rubbing his cock down the center of Scott’s belly. He pulls his hips back, slowly, then forwards again. Back, then forwards. His hands, rested at first on Scott’s heaving chest, move up to his shoulders, gently massaging the muscles there as Stiles rocks in quick rhythm, rubbing himself off on Scott’s abs. 

Each sway forward brings him closer to those waiting jaws. With the muzzle gone, Stiles knows that he’s literally asking for it at this point, his heart practically pounding its way out of his ribcage as he spreads his body out over Scott’s for more touch, more friction. But his fear response is matched in equal measure by complete and utter arousal. He’s never been so turned on in his life, the threat of very likely violence to his body somehow an all-consuming thrill instead of a mind-numbing terror. A pleasure with sacrificing his safety, his morals, his everything.

Well, no one’s ever accused him of having his head on straight.

Stiles whimpers as his cock glides smoothly against his best friend’s muscular abdomen, slick with sweat and saliva. His grip tightens on Scott’s broad shoulders as the other boy squirms and thrashes. Scott’s head is lowered, eyes glowing brighter as he stares intently at Stiles, laser focused yet curiously not trying to snap out at him with those teeth anymore.

Stiles matches that gaze, panting harshly as he quickens the thrust of his hips. “You want me, Scotty?” he asks breathlessly, grinning at the growl he receives in response. “Then...you gotta...come get me!”

His cock spasms, a moan falling from his lips as he comes all over Scott’s stomach. The sound turns into a startled squeal as the chains break with a resonant crack, the breath punched momentarily out of Stiles’ chest as Scott’s powerful arms wrap around his body, dragging him in close. 

Stiles flinches instinctively, expecting those jaws to snap around his neck, rip his throat open. But instead, he feels the warm wetness, opening his eyes to Scott’s tongue slathering his face in saliva, licking all over his jaw and neck, then down his chest…

He gasps, hands instinctively gripping at Scott’s messy hair as the werewolf laps up the traces of cum left on his cock, the surprise of the erotic sensation enough to keep his erection going. “Oh fuuuuck, Scott!” 

A startled laugh escapes him as Scott pins him down on his back, legs folded up over the werewolf’s shoulders. Stiles has only a moment to realise where this is headed as he hears the fabric of Scott’s underwear ripping apart, and then he is suddenly _speared_ , split in twain by the cock slammed deep inside him.

The pain is excruciating. Scott’s cock is big enough that it probably would have hurt at first with proper preparation and care, but forced in raw and fast it’s like being stabbed in one of the most sensitive spots imaginable. Only the high of his orgasm is enough to keep Stiles from screaming, his voice contorting into a strangled sort of gargle instead. He whimpers as Scott’s hips pull back and slam forward in a quick, brutal rhythm, the sensation of immense fullness stretching his hole beyond what he’d ever imagined even in his sickest fantasies of his moment.

Scott’s tongue is back, lapping greedily over his face. Stiles tries to match him, tries to turn it into a kiss, but Scott just explores the inside of his mouth for a moment before licking a wet trail up over his nose and eye. Stiles tilts his head back, shivering as Scott’s clawed hand grasps at his hair, mouth pressing bruises into the tender flesh along his neck. 

Every sensation overwhelms. The agony of Scott’s cock stabbing inside of him is such that it transcends pain and pleasure and simply becomes pure feeling. Stiles barely even notices when the werewolf’s cockhead swells and pumps white hot cum deep within him, so lost he is in the sway of every touch.

He does notice, however, when Scott sways forward, hot breath washing over his forehead, making him look up just in time to see those widening jaws descend around him and plunging him into darkness.

It’s completely disorienting, for a long moment, even though this was arguably the basis of the thrill that motivated him to put himself in this position in the first place. The reality of the act, the reality of actually being _devoured_ is so alien, so impossible-seeming that it doesn’t compute, even as the rush of saliva roars past his ears, razor sharp teeth grazing along his bruised neck as the muscles of Scott’s throat pulsate around his head, sucking him deeper into the abyss.

Scott’s tongue rasps along Stiles’ Adam’s apple, a low groan echoing loudly in Stiles’ ears. The sound brings him back to himself, pulls his attention away from the sensation of fluid spilling inside his body. His heart seizes in his chest, fight or flight instinct pushing its way to the surface at last. But it’s already too late, he knows. Even if he had the physical strength to pry himself out of Scott’s jaws, the werewolf could easily sever his neck in a single bite should he decide to chomp down. There was no way out but through; to finish what he started. 

Scott’s hands grip tightly at Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him closer, dragging him further down the tight, slimy passage of his gullet with a powerful swallow. Stiles grunts at the loss of fullness as the werewolf’s cock slides out of his ass, cum dripping down onto the sheets below. But the slick removal also makes his own dick stir to life once again, and Stiles finds his hand reaching instinctively to wrap around his own hardness, tugging himself desperately towards one last orgasm as his best friend in the world swallows him whole.

A deep rumble vibrates around him, reverberating through his body as his head is forced through Scott’s esophagus. Stiles moans, pumping his aching cock vigorously as his arms are pinned to his sides, his shoulders slick with drool as Scott’s jaws stretch over them. He doesn’t want to face realization, to face what he’s done to his friend and to his own body, face the end of his young life thrown away so suddenly and purposelessly. There’s no point to any of that now, it won’t change his fate. 

All that remains open to him are the pleasures of touch, the tightness of Scott’s throat squeezing around more and more of his body, the warm wetness of that powerful tongue licking and tasting every inch of him. And now, as his head enters the dark, smelly stomach sac, the sizzle of acids reacting to the presence of flesh, of meat.

He doesn’t manage to bring himself to completion before his hand is forced away by the pressure of Scott’s jaws closing around his waist, but a stray lick from the werewolf’s tongue is sufficient to finish the deed. Stiles cries out in ecstasy as his cock shoots a practical geyser of cum, filling Scott’s mouth, washed down with the rest of him as the other boy tilts his head back and swallows up Stiles’ twitching legs with just a few quick gulps.

Stiles lets out a strangled laughing sob as he’s forced to curl up, flesh kneaded on all sides by the slimy walls containing him, wet gurgling churning noises filling his ears as more juices spill all around him, tingling and burning.

_BWWOOOUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!!!_

The walls contract even tighter around him, his body shaken violently as Scott lets out a deep, prolonged belch. Stiles whimpers, his cock twitching as he imagines what it must look like outside: the werewolf reclined on the bed with a lazy, satisfied grin, belly swollen out like a beach ball and squirming with the last weak movements of his prey.

Stiles had chosen this path for himself, and now it was so: he was a meal, meat, food. Sustenance for a bigger and stronger animal and nothing more. His body would be churned and digested, broken down to its most essential elements, some taken to remain as part of Scott’s body, the rest reduced to shit. 

He shudders, a crooked smile playing at his lips as another thunderous belch echoes overhead, his vision dimming as he finds no more breathable oxygen left to sustain him. The gurgling sounds grow louder around him, and he perceives what seems like a hand rubbing gently against the bulge of his body from outside the stomach walls before his consciousness fades.

And then he is gone.


End file.
